Basorexia
by Keirra
Summary: Torian had thought about everything when it came to putting together an armor kit for Noara, except how good she would look in it.


When Torian was putting together an armor kit for Noara, he hadn't spent much time considering how she would look in it. He had put lots of thought into how it would fit, if it would be light enough, if it would impede her movement in the field. He chose the colors carefully, black for the undershirt, white for the leggings and white and green for the armor pieces, for their meanings – things he hadn't taught her yet but knew she would appreciate when they got to it. Black for justice, white for purity and green for duty.

He had seen her in many states of dress, the small top she thought was proper battle attire when they met; the dress she bought when they snuck away for their first – and so far only – date; in the frilly underwear that matched her dress; the practical ones she normally wore, and of course in nothing at all.

But looking at her the first time she tried her armor kit on, still grinning about his surprise, and fiddling with each piece to try and figure out where it went he wasn't sure she had ever looked so beautiful. The armor fit her perfectly, following the curves of her body and pliable enough to move with her when she twisted and turned to test it out.

She didn't have the muscular build of a Mandalorian woman, didn't use their weapons or know all their customs, but she was a warrior nonetheless – one who respected his ideals, who understood honor.

One he wanted to fight beside for however much longer he had.

"So?" She asked, turning around slowly to give him a good look at her, "how do I look? Like a proper warrior finally?"

Tapping his fingers thoughtfully on his chin, he took a couple steps toward her and made a show of eyeing her thoroughly. He pulled her close with an arm around her waist, relishing the feel of hard plated armor under his hand and the sound of her chest plate hitting his.

The whole galaxy was so fucked up, he'd spent the last five years fighting an endless war against soulless machines and the absolute last thing he expected to find in the middle of all this insanity was the woman currently in his arms. The woman who was the opposite of everything he had ever looked for in a partner, and everything he could have wished for at the same time.

"Yeah," he said, using his hand not holding her waist to cup her cheek, lifting her face to meet his gaze. "Just like a proper verd. Promise me you will wear it?"

"This means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

He could see her resist the urge to sigh as she spoke, he knew she was resistant to the armor. That she didn't want to sacrifice her mobility and comfort on the battlefield – it was a long-standing debate between them.

"I don't want to lose you," he admitted while moving his hand from her waist to the middle of her back, where he knew the scar that marked the exit wound of Arcann's lightsaber laid. He didn't need to see it to know it was there, it's location was seared into his mind along with everything it meant.

That she had almost died that day. That she probably should have died months before they even met.

That if she would just wear some damn proper armor it might not have been a killing blow.

Her eyes widened slightly at his confession, surprised by the sudden shift of his mood. He didn't have to voice where his train of thoughts had gone, his hand on her back in that spot told her everything she needed to hear to concede to his request.

"I know, and I don't intend on leaving you. I'll wear it, I promise," she said with a soft smile hoping to soothe his worries away.

Torian nodded, returning her smile as he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Noara was here, safe in his arms, wearing the armor he had carefully assembled for him and he had finally won the battle of talking her into it. His mixture of relief and elation of victory was quickly overtaken by an overwhelming desire to kiss her – she was in his arms already and he had been taught to take every tactical advantage he saw after all.

He didn't have to lean down far to capture her lips with his own. She returned the kiss fervently, reaching up to bury a hand in his hair and pull him as close as possible.

"So," she said, breaking the kiss and pulling away just far enough to shoot him a cheeky grin, "now that you finally got me into an armor kit, what do you say to helping me out of it?"

* * *

Mando'a Translation:

Verd: warrior


End file.
